I love him, I love him not
by Sofia Razvi
Summary: Slash Sam/Dean. For Dean, sex always came with the tag line 'no strings attached', but this time it comes with the whole freakin' bundle.


Dean raised himself up against the headboard. There wasn't any light outside and he assumed that it was still early – a glance at his wrist told him that it was 4 in the morning. He looked towards the other bed in the cheap motel room they were staying in, and saw his brother, Sam sleeping with his arm draped across his forehead.

The events of last night flooded back to him. Sam and he had fucked again. Yes, they had 'fucked'…neither of them would ever call it 'made love' or even 'sex'- those words served to lend too much dignity to something so fucked up that not only was it illegal in every state in the goddamn country, but was also guaranteed to send them both straight to hell (not that he wasn't going already, but it was difficult to imagine Sammy in the pit).

He still remembered that first night five months ago.

They had just finished working a case in Ohio, but it was raining too hard for them to leave that night. Dean sat, arms and legs splayed out all over the couch, surfing through channels on the crappy TV in another one of the never-ending series of crappy motel

rooms, as Sam walked in from his little trip to the Dollar mart, dripping wet. Dean caught the beer that he tossed at him, not taking his eyes off the particularly whiny soap opera he was watching.

"Sammy, go change. Don't want you catching a cold."

"Uh huh…gimme a minute."

That was when Dean looked at Sam and his breath hitched in his throat. Sam's face was flushed; lips in a girly pout as he desperately tousled his mop of brown hair, trying his best to make it go from wet to damp, and a drop or two of rain clung to his lashes. Next thing Dean knew, he had Sam pinned against a hideously papered wall, ravaging his mouth with his own. Sam hadn't pushed him away but after less than a moment of tensing his muscles, had kissed him back with equal fervour. Lips against lips, tongue on tongue, as they tasted copper.

Damp denim jacket was peeled off with the old leather one. Shirts were pulled over heads in frenzy. Dean flung Sam on to the latter's bed and with his own weight pressed against him, entangled his fingers in his unruly brown locks that were plastered to his forehead thanks to the sweat. As emerald eyes met hazel ones, belts were unbuckled; jeans came undone and joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor, along with boxers. Thrust followed thrust and all that other inhabitants of the motel could've heard through those thin walls were raspy breaths, moans and muffled screams that accompanied blessed release.

They didn't lie in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow. Dean had just gotten up in a post orgasmic haze and gone over to his bed after it was all over. Next morning, Sam had woken up to find his brother cleaning the guns, and not a word was said about the previous night. They talked normally enough throughout the car ride and the only hint that the previous night had even happened, was that evening at a diner, when Dean pulled Sam into the dark alley behind the building and fucked him long, good and hard.

This thing ended up turning into a routine. They'd fuck two to three times a week but would never acknowledge it the next morning. There was a simple justification for it all- they were always on the road, never getting enough sex. Hot chicks weren't hard to come by, and almost all of them succumbed to the undeniable charms of the Winchester boys, but lately every girl either of them picked up happened to be possessed. Try sticking your tongue into a mouth that you know will be spewing black smoke sometime soon. Not pleasant. Jerking off could only get you so far. The two brothers had grown up knowing that life wasn't all rainbows and unicorns and had learnt to take what they could get.

But if that was all there was to it, why had it all changed? Why had the bites Sam marked him with, turned into feather light touches of lips that left a burning trail down his body? Why had the kisses that had been all about fighting for dominance, turned into deep, tender kisses that he found hard to pull himself away from? Why had his groans during sex turned into softly uttered moans of 'Sammy'? Why had he caught himself jerking off, more than once, not to the thoughts of some trashy but hot slut with her mouth wrapped around his cock, but to infuriatingly long chocolate brown hair that fell over hazel eyes, and the deep dimpled grin that he had grown up seeing or at least wanting to see on his brother's face? Why did he have to clutch the steering wheel with both hands so tightly that his skin was white over his knuckles, to keep them from straying towards Sam and entwining themselves with his ridiculously long-fingered ones?

That was when it struck him. Struck him like lightning.

Holy shit, was he falling in love with his brother?


End file.
